


A Fever You Can't Sweat Out

by Loudest_Voice



Category: Naruto
Genre: Dimension Travel, M/M, Obito's Horrible Outlook on Life, That Asshole Itachi, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-01-25 19:39:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12539648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loudest_Voice/pseuds/Loudest_Voice
Summary: There's a thing in your head that wants to burn the world down. Sometimes, you forget it isn't you.





	1. You, Awake

**Author's Note:**

> It's time I joined the ranks of people who write time travel fic. As usual, thanks to luvsanime02 for beta-reading.

When you wake up, there’s grass tickling the back of your neck. The _right_ side of the back of your neck. You haven't felt much besides pain in the right side of your body for a long time. Warm air passes through your nostrils, making a whistling sound. You freeze.

That’s a mistake. There’s someone beside you on the grass; not lying down, but close enough that they sense your sudden lack of movement. It’s a rookie mistake, to suddenly move (or stop moving) with a hostile so close to you. Now you’ll have to kill them. Which is for the best, really, so your blunder is in their best interests.

“Obito?”

The voice startles you more than the name. Rage, white-hot, sears through your senses. Your heart hammers in your chest. Your hands curl into fists. Your eyes snap open.

And you scramble back.

Rin’s face is looking down at you with mild concern through a piss-yellow film.

“Obito,” she repeats, starting to lean towards you.

You rip off the goggles over your eyes, and everything is clearer. Dimly, you notice that under the confusion, your body doesn't hurt. Your body always hurts.

“What’s wrong?” Rin stands up, and you realize that you’ve stood up at some point, though you haven't reached for your weapons yet. “I’m gonna get closer to you, alright? Obito? Is that alright?”

You look around as you throw the goggles aside. It’s just a grass field beside a forest, picturesque but generic. A gentle wind rustles the leaves and sweeps over the tall grass. There are probably thousands of areas like this around the Land of Fire.

“Obito,” repeats the person who looks like Rin. “Can I step closer to you?”

You can't really tell if she’s a decent approximation of Rin. It’s been so very long since she died. Her behavior, though, that’s all wrong. The Rin of your childhood would not have hesitated to get in your personal space. The Rin of your childhood had known that you were just a clumsy fool in love with her. She would have had no need to be careful of you.

You glare, and it’s a good enough one that she grinds to a halt, a foot away from you. You almost want to smirk, but this whole thing is insulting. Who exactly thinks that they can neutralize you with some cheap disguise? You’ll rip their throat out through their mouth--

When you try to activate your Sharingan, it’s like someone pours acid into your nerves. The whole world is briefly as clear and sharp as a diamond, and that hurts almost as much as the back of your eyes. You’re used to pain, though, so you hold it. You look at the girl who is pretending to be Rin, grasping for any sign of a genjutsu or a transformation technique. Any sign that she isn't real.

“Oh, Obito, your _eyes_!” She clasps her hands together and smiles, but your Sharingan shows you that it’s a strained movement, that the muscles of her face are trying to move in several directions at once. “When did you activate your Sharingan? Why didn’t you say anything?”

She walks closer to you. You take a shaken step backwards. There’s no jutsu on this rotten earth that can trick your Sharingan, or anyone’s Sharingan, for that matter. What _is_ she?

“Obito?” The worried look that crosses over her face is real.

Also, where the _fuck_ is your Rinnegan?

The girl who _can't_ be Rin ignores her training and strides over to you. And you could kill her; doesn't she fucking know _who you are_?

You know who you are. Pain is nothing to you, so you force more chakra through your burning nerves. You’ll need Kamui to annihilate her the way she deserves to be annihilated. More chakra than you have, apparently. Your heart accelerates and your vision blurs. Hard as you try, you can't keep your Sharingan active, much less get Kamui going.

Not-Rin reaches you and puts her hand on your shoulder. You push her back, or try to. The world is going black around the edges.

“Obito--”

You vomit bile on her toes before she can say anything else, and then you pass out.

* * *

 

A medic is standing over you when you open your eyes next. She has grey streaks at her temples and a severe crew cut that does little for her looks, if she ever had any to begin with. Her headband announces that she is a Konoha-nin.

“Oh, you’re awake,” she says, obviously bored. “Your family’s on the way.”

You almost can't resist asking her what the fuck she means.

“One of the clerks will bring you lunch soon,” she says. “Eat it, and you can go.”

You don't say anything.

The medic yawns and walks off. You lie back on the bed, ready to assess the situation you’ve landed yourself in. First thing’s first: your body. It feels better than it has in decades, aside from the gnawing nausea and the burning of your retinas. You check all your muscles for baseline strength, and run your joints through the standard ranges of motion. Your right side is alien in its comfort. You can't stop expecting the next painful cramp, but all seems to be in working order. The medic has you hooked to monitors, and they all beep along in steady harmony.

Next, your chakra reserves. Garbage. Embarrassingly garbage. You’re practically a fucking civilian with atrophied tenketsu. No wonder your eyeballs almost exploded when you tried to activate Kamui.

You take a deep breath and open your eyes, though you’re not sure what you expect. It’s just a standard Konoha hospital room, with its ammonia stink and pale green walls. You don't even warrant a window. There’s a painting of Hashirama and Madara on the wall to your left, a cheap one that barely gets their likenesses. You glare at Madara out of habit, then start pulling off the monitors on your chest.

The machines start beeping a frantic tune immediately. You’ll fucking choke that medic if she comes back to whine at you, low chakra reserves be damned. She doesn't, and the machine doesn't stop its shrieking as you put on your clothes. You walk over to it and fiddle with the buttons until you figure out how to get its volume to the lowest setting. By accident, you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the black monitor.

It’s hardly a decent mirror, but it’s enough to briefly grind you to a halt. The boy who stares back at you doesn't have a single scar on his face. You don't recognize him. He could be any random Uchiha with large, dark eyes and thick hair. You can't believe you ever looked like an Uchiha. Fuck, you almost got the  _looks._

You’re in deep shit.

You sit on the crappy hospital bed, trying to remember where you were before waking up in that field next to Not-Rin. Memories swim in your mind, none of them clear. You remember Kakashi, which means little considering how much you’ve been thinking of Kakashi lately. You’d been fighting. . . which also means little, considering how much you’d been fighting lately. You already had the Rinnegan. You remember that much. But not what that means.

A knock on your door interrupts your muddled thoughts. Before you can yell at whoever it is to fuck off, a girl enters holding a tray of food.

“The kitchen got some extra sugar and whipped up a chocolate cake, Uchiha-san,” the girl tells you, beaming as she puts the tray on the little dresser next to your bed. “Still, I could only sneak you a small bit. We weren't expecting any new patients.”

You stare at her, carefully keeping your face blank.

“We’ve got plenty of the chicken broth,” she reassures you.

You can tell. The smell of it has reached you, and you realize something. The gnawing nausea you’ve been feeling since you woke up is _hunger_. Shit.

“And your mother sent word that she’s on the way,” adds the girl, wiping her hands on her apron.

Your _mother_? Now there’s someone you haven't thought of in a fucking lifetime. You can't even remember what she looks like.

“Anyway,” says the girl, “I guess I should give you some privacy?”

She makes it sound like a question, for some reason. You stare at her blankly. You learned that trick from that asshole, Itachi. People don't like being stared at. This girl sure doesn't. Her shoulders draw in and she swallows, then she starts shuffling away. You all but leap at the food when she turns around, but then she whirls back to face you once more, and you freeze. You need to fucking stop doing that.

“I’m sorry, Uchiha-san,” she says, determined, “but don't you remember me?”

She has curly brown hair and light eyes. You couldn't pick her out of a lineup if your life depended on it.

“No.” Your own voice startles you. It sounds nothing like you remember. It’s deep, and the reflection in the monitor had looked so _young_.

The girl’s eyes legit fill with tears before she whirls around. You would strangle the moron, if only you had a plan on how to get out of this shithole, or at least access to Kamui. But you don't, so you scavenge for patience until she’s out of your room, then rush to the broth.

Your tongue protests that you’re eating bland horsepiss, but it might as well be a feast fit for the daimyo as far as the rest of you is concerned. You’re used to the Zetsu limbs attached to your right side providing you nourishment. It’s the first time you taste anything at all in more than a decade. Tears threaten to spill out of your eyes because of hospital soup, and you never even considered that you missed eating. The pitiful slice of chocolate cake is almost more than you can take.

You’re being stupid. Food is an inefficient way to replenish chakra reserves. You should be mourning the loss of your Zetsu limbs, painful as they were. How the fuck will you manage Kamui without them?

If _Kakashi_ could do it, and with your fucking eye, then so can you.

Somehow, you wolf down your food without throwing up. The medic comes back and asks you how you feel, especially your belly, and you shrug. You definitely feel your stomach, but it’s been so long since you ate that you can't tell if the fullness is normal or not. You’re not in pain, so it can't be that bad. And the medic seems satisfied with your vitals and finally turns the fucking monitor off.

“Seems like you’re recovering well from the chakra exhaustion,” says the medic.

You groan. Though you had suspected that’s what happened, you couldn't be sure. Chakra exhaustion hasn't concerned you in a long time. You’d forgotten the feeling.

“I don't know much about the Sharingan, but I’m sure your family will tell you how to handle it.”

“Yeah,” you say, though you don't know what to expect from them. The day you activated your Sharingan is the day you died, after all. You want the medic gone so you can leave and. . . figure something out. Anything.

“Your mother should be here soon,” says the medic, as she scribbles on her chart. “You’re free to go with her. Make it quick, too. We need this bed.”

Right, your mother. You sigh at the reminder that here, you’re not just a random guy with some hunting skills who can fuck off whenever he wants. You are an Uchiha clansman, and a weak one at that. Beyond that, you are a Konoha-nin. You have responsibilities now, and you aren't strong enough to shirk them.


	2. Your Mother

It’s a strange relief that you recognize your mother’s face. She looks like you a lot, except for the shape of your eyes. She’s a Konoha orphan who married your father, not an Uchiha by blood. She kept her job as a waitress after marrying your father because she wasn't stupid enough to assume her ninja husband wouldn't be killed and leave her destitute. When your cousins made fun of you for not awakening your Sharingan, she used to make your favorite dinner. She’s a decent woman. You almost feel bad for forgetting her.

“So you have the eyes now?” she asks as she boils your favorite tea. 

You’d forgotten you had a favorite tea. You still don't remember what it’s called, but you remember the scent, and how your mother served it to you countless times as you nursed black eyes and other bruises.

“Rin was shocked too,” you say.

“I didn't mean it like that,” says your mother.

She _did_ mean it like that. You don't blame her. It’s not like you’ve ever given her any reason to expect better.

“Your father will be very proud,” says your mother.

You suck in a breath. Unlike what happened with your mother, you remember your father instantly. Uchiha Souichiro, Fugaku’s second cousin, a captain in the police force, and chronically ashamed of his failure of a son. 

“Probably,” you say. She’s cooking dinner. Something with meat. You recognize the scent again. Saliva pools in your mouth.

“Obito?” She says your name tentatively, like Rin had in the field. “I thought you’d be beside yourself if you ever awakened the Sharingan.”

You had been. Years and years ago.

“But it’s like. . .” Your mother looks down at her feet. “You know I don't like to be dramatic, but it’s like a light went out of you.”

You know exactly what to do. Smile so wide your cheeks hurt, scratch the back of your head, and make a dumb joke. You’re a good actor with plenty of practice. Well, with one particular role. But she would believe you. She’s your mother and she loves you. You remember that much.

(Wait, _do_ you remember your mother? You're an orphan, aren't you? What the fuck is this woman’s name?)

“It’s been a long day,” you hear yourself say.

“I know,” she says, walking over to squeeze your shoulder. “I’m proud of you.”

She isn't. It’s not because she’s shit, though, but because she’s not an Uchiha by blood, and thus understands that, in the grand scheme of things, the Sharingan isn't much of anything.

“Thank you,” you say. Then you frown because fuck this woman. Who cares what she thinks? “I need to rest.”

“But dinner--”

“I’m not hungry,” you lie. You just need a moment to lie down, and going without dinner once in awhile never killed anyone. It certainly never killed you, back when you were an orphan.

“Right, I’ll leave it in the fridge for you,” says your mother.

Seriously, what the fuck is her name?

Your legs carry you to a room that you assume must be “yours”, not that you recognize anything about it. There are two sets of yellow goggles hanging on a dresser, and a set of ANBU armor against the wall. You’ll pluck out one of your Sharingan and eat it if the armor is yours, but it must be. Why else would it be in your room? 

Irrelevant. You have bigger things to worry about. Nervously, you slip your hands into your pockets, an old defensive habit that Madara beat out of you. You find a piece of paper. It’s not an old receipt, but a note in Rin’s handwriting.

_Dear Obito,_

_All three of us are overjoyed that you finally managed to awaken your Sharingan (I always knew you could do it!). If this mission wasn't so important, we’d all wait for you to wake up and celebrate. Unfortunately, we have a very short window of time to infiltrate and destroy the Kannabi Bridge. Once we get back, we’ll take you to your favorite restaurant and chip in to buy you the most expensive meal._

_Love,_

_Team Minato_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I'm at tumblr now.](https://loudest-voice.tumblr.com/)


	3. Your Mother

You know the Kannabi Bridge mission goes straight to shit, though fuck if you can remember the details. It was Kakashi’s fault. You’re pretty sure of that. But again, you’re pretty sure most things are Kakashi’s fault, and there’s enough of you left to consider that Kakashi is only one man. Realistically, not everything can be his fault.

But Kannabi Bridge? That shit was pretty much all Kakashi. You remember that Rin got captured or lost or something, and Kakashi quoted some bullshit regulation at you, and then you punched him in the face. Or tried to punch him in the face. Minato was off murdering some unsuspecting fuckers (probably), and Kakashi also tried to show off Chidori at some point. And then you went off to rescue Rin, gave some dumb speech in Kakashi’s general direction, and awakened the Sharingan. You were so shit that not even the Sharingan could make you useful, and then you got crushed by a boulder and gave Kakashi your eye.

Sometimes, you dream that Kakashi stole your eye, but that’s not what happened. You _gave_ Kakashi your Sharingan. You remember your pride at the sacrifice, so bright and powerful that, for a moment, your pain faded. That bit is true. You _want_ that bit to be true, because then everything that Kakashi is, he is because of your kindness. What is he without his borrowed Sharingan, after all?

They might die at the Kannabi Bridge. Not Minato, that fucker won't go down easy, but Kakashi and Rin. One is a kid too full of himself, and the other. . . the other. . . You don’t actually care, do you? It’s not your Rin, and certainly not your Kakashi. They are less to you than the woman downstairs whose name you can't remember. At least her you’ve known for a day.

Kamui must have brought you back, or into another world. It’s not the simplest of jutsu, and you’re not exactly the most shining example of intelligence the world has ever seen. Honestly, it’s a miracle you haven't fucked up this bad before. That you haven't fucked up worse. Somehow, you're still alive. You still have a chance to get out of this mess.

* * *

 

For an Uchiha, awakening the Sharingan is A Big Fucking Deal. You’d forgotten, since the day you awakened yours is also the day you died. You get a glimpse of how it might have turned out if you’d survived the next morning.

The day starts normally enough, or so you assume. Your mother makes you breakfast, which you shove down your gullet like a starving man.

“Do you want me to heat up your dinner?” asks your mother with a fond look, as you inhale boiled eggs.

You nod frantically.

Your mother smiles and gets to it. She’s wearing what you recognize as her work uniform: pleated skirt with a t-shirt emblazoned with _Mei-Mei’s Love Booth_. Though you’ve never been there, you recognize the name of the little cafe where your mother works. Your mother has sown the Uchiha fan on the back, and their colors clash with the burnt-orange shirt. She still looks young, though she’s old enough to have had you.

The clock over the backdoor tick-tocks steadily as you eat. You're calm, or the closest to calm you ever are. In the back of your head, something is panicking about the Kannabi Bridge, but it’s a tiny thing, easier to ignore than the migraines you get when Kakashi gets airs of heroism and overuses your Sharingan. The taste of your mother’s cooking is more than enough to drown it out. When that stops working, you look at the yellow daisies in a vase in the center of the breakfast table. They’re your mother’s favorite flower. You gathered them for her. You love your mother. It’s a nice feeling.

Your mother puts another serving of food in front of you. Though it smells so good that you take a deep breath just to enjoy it more, something makes you slow down as you reach for it. Maybe your stomach is getting full. You don't know. Still not used to eating, it seems.

A second later, your ears catch what some other instinct in you already knows. Your father enters the kitchen, dressed in an Uchiha police uniform. Souichiro glances at you as he walks to his wife and kisses her forehead.

“Good morning,” he tells the room.

“Good morning, Father,” you say, automatically. It’s probably the strangest thing you've said in your entire fucked up life.

Your father nods, then sits down opposite to you. “I was glad to hear that you’ve awakened your Sharingan,” he says, as your mother puts a plate of food in front of him.

“I bet,” you say.

That makes him look at you, black eyes almost startled. Reflexively, you look down at your plate, then at the flower vase so it’s not so obvious that you can't maintain his gaze. All of a sudden, you notice that you ate too much, too quickly.

“The Elders will be here soon to ascertain that you did in fact awaken your Sharingan,” says your father. “I hope you will not shame me.”

The implication is clear. It’s barely an implication. No one believes that you’ve actually awakened your Sharingan; it must be your silly friend being tricked by an odd flash of light.

“I won't, Father.”

You checked last night. You can activate your Sharingan without issue. It’s when you even think of Kamui that it all starts going to shit. Not that it isn't dumb and unnecessary to reassure this petty, insignificant little man.

“I have to get to work,” says your mother, leaning down to kiss your forehead. Your father frowns, and though you lean into your mother’s touch, something in you shrinks at his resigned glare. “Sorry I won't be here to greet the Elders.”

“Work is work,” says your father.

Your father is a responsible man, and he demands responsibility from others. He likes that your mother keeps toiling away at her little cafe. It’s the most she’s capable of. If you accepted that you’re not capable of much and got a little menial job somewhere, your father would probably hate you a little less.

“Good luck, Obito,” says your mother. Then she walks out the door, rushing.

You really need to find out what her name is. A man should know his mother’s name.

“How is Hatake?” asks your father.

“Fine.” Again, you respond automatically, though your head is spinning in circles. Why the fuck would your father be asking about _Kakashi_?

Well. He’s your teammate.

“Rin’s fine too,” you add.

Your father tilts his head. Before he can say anything, someone knocks on the door. It’s the Elders, here to check that you’re not playing some kind of prank about the Sharingan.

One of them is an old man Obito doesn't recognize, though he might be a retired med-nin. Makes sense. The exasperated med-nin at the hospital had said that his family would tell him how to handle the Sharingan. He doesn't tell you to activate your Sharingan right away, and instead does what feels like a full physical exam. Hopefully, he won't ask to get his wrinkly hands all over your balls. Your father’s right there, watching like you’re some kind of breeding stock. You suppose that you are.

The other Elder is freaking Rakshasha. You don't remember her personally, as the Elders had no reason to note your existence before, but Madara had remembered her. And also that asshole Itachi, though he certainly had never mentioned her in your presence. Only reason you recognize her is those purple beads she wears. The gaudy necklace looks out of place considering her otherwise plain clothes, but that's only because it's not a necklace at all. It's a weapon. Madara had said that she’d almost electrocuted him with them once. It’s almost like you’re in the presence of a legend, if a legend looked like a diminutive, disinterested old woman with snowy white hair.

“Alright, activate your Sharingan,” orders the other Elder.

You do so, expecting no fuss.

The Elder gasps.

“What?” You can see the world through the Sharingan’s harsh clarity, a faint impulse to copy everyone’s movements included. You can see every wrinkle on the Elder’s worn face, every point of tension in your father’s body.

Only Rakshasha remains still in the periphery of your vision, unchanged by the Sharingan’s bright light.

“You have all three tomoe,” says the Elder.

“Oh.” You shrug. It didn't occur to you that that would be an issue. You have no idea how to downgrade your Sharingan, or anyone else’s, for that matter.

“How could you accomplish this?” asks the Elder.

“I don't know.” It’s true. Back when you got your Sharingan, all three tomoe matured within hours. How else would Kakashi have gotten a fully-matured Sharingan?

“It’s not possible,” protests the Elder.

You shrug again. Obviously, it’s possible. You're standing right in front of the old fool.

“Obviously, it’s possible,” rasps out Rakshasha. You smile. “The brat’s proof enough of that, and he’s standing right in front of you.”

“He must have been hiding his Sharingan for years,” says the Elder.

“Don't be ridiculous,” says Rakshasha.

“My son would never do that!”

You wouldn't. If you had lived after awakening your Sharingan the first time, you would have bragged until one of your shittier cousins killed you.

“There’s no other explanation for this phenomenon,” insists the Elder.

“Maybe I’m not really the Obito you know.” The Elder stares. You don't need your Sharingan to see that your father is apoplectic. Though the little voice in the back of your head is frantic, you push on. “Maybe I’m an impostor from another dimension.”

Your father’s face goes red as the Elder sputters.

Rakshasha snorts. “That’d be something, wouldn't it?” She steps closer to the table, and slaps her fellow Elder’s shoulder. “The brat is delayed. Perhaps he’s had the Sharingan for a while and didn't notice, or maybe this is what happens when an older kid awakens the Sharingan.”

Maybe. You were old even the first time.

“He’s insubordinate!” insists the Elder.

“Oh, we should only hope,” says Rakshasha. “Come on, we have a party to plan, booze to buy. . .”

Rakshasha ushers her fellow Elder away, while your father babbles apologies that you don't care about. You think. Your father’s face is red. You want to get out of there, but for some reason, you don't just get up and leave. If you had access to Kamui, you would fade away, take refuge in that nothing place between worlds.

You can't picture Kamui clearly in your mind anymore. That makes you frown. It’s an ominous sign. Of what, you aren't sure. But it’s bad; you should keep Kamui in mind. That’s what the problem is, or maybe just the solution.

While you squint, trying to see Kamui in your mind’s eye, your father slaps you.

It doesn't hurt, but you are shocked. (Not really.) You look at him, mouth hanging open, cheek stinging, and his lips start moving. You don't hear what he’s saying. There’s a current in your ears, and your heart is beating like a trapped rabbit. Then it slows down, and your head clears. Kamui is stark and grey/black in your mind, though you still can't access it.

You father keeps on talking. You still don't hear him. The vase on the table glints. Your eyes flit towards it.

As any shinobi worth the money to outfit them with shuriken will tell you, the element of surprise is a _bitch_. You grab the vase, swiftly, and stand in a smooth motion. There’s no threat to the motion, no _intention_ , so your father doesn't notice what’s happened until after you’ve smashed the vase in his face. A shard of glass cuts your palm. You don't mind.

Your father is looking at you like he’s never seen you before. He hasn't. You have the same shard of glass cutting your palm pressed against his jugular. His pulse is jumping, frantic and harsh, visible under the pale skin of his neck. Bright red blood streams from assorted cuts on his face: over his nose, under one eye, under his lower lip.

“If you _ever_ put your hand on me again,” you tell him, “I’ll cut it off and stuff it down your throat.”

This might be the point where someone else would back off, but you aren’t even breathing hard. You stare at his eyes with your Sharingan active. A fully-matured Sharingan is an intimidating sight, even among the Uchiha. You need him to understand that you are someone to fear. So you wait until a few seconds after he nods at you, as though you are still considering killing him, and then slowly take your hand back. Your gaze never leaves his.

He takes an involuntary step backwards. You reward him with a small smile, then rip the glass shard out of your palm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I'm at tumblr now.](https://loudest-voice.tumblr.com/)


	4. Not Kakashi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to update this from my phone. Let's hope it's not a total mess.

You’re feeling pretty jaunty, all things considered. You had prepared some looks of confused bewilderment in case your father made any noise about your death threat, but it seems like the man is either ashamed or properly intimidated. There’s some nonsense going on about the party celebrating your Sharingan, and the festive air kinda gets to you. It’s not really about you; seeing your cousins running around is. . . nice.

That’s not a thing you ever thought you’d feel about fucking Uchihas, but there you go. The cut on your palm still smarts, but you’re more annoyed that it bothers you than anything else. Once, you had the Zetsu limbs. This should be nothing.

Your mother notices the bandage you haphazardly wrapped around your hand the night before. That makes you wish you knew some healing jutsu, but it's not the kind of thing that the Sharingan can copy. Kakashi had known some anyway, because of course he had.

“Are you sure you don't want to go to the hospital?” your mother asks.

“It’s a pretty superficial cut.”

“Still. . .” Your mother wrings her hands. “On your palm. . .”

“It doesn't hurt,” you reassure her.

“That’s not the point,” she says, stands closer to you. “Did you have a fight with your father?”

“Mother, no.”

“Mother?” She smiles, but it’s strained. “Why so formal all of a sudden?”

Your mother’s parents weren't from Konoha. They used to be goat herders from a small country between the Land of Fire and the Land of Lightning. Your mother still speaks their language, but the only word she ever taught you is their version of _mama_.

“Amá.”

“That’s better,” she says, with a wistful smile. “Obito, I’m not stupid, you know?”

No, you don't think so. And you think most people are stupid.

“I come home from work, my vase is broken, and there’s blood on my tablecloth,” she says. “My son’s got a bandaged hand, and my husband has a bandaged face. It doesn’t take a ninja cop to figure out what happened.”

“Come on, Amá,” you say easily. The script comes from something in you that’s still outside you. “Nothing happened except clumsiness.”

Amá doesn't smile. “Maybe it’s best if you spend some time at Kakashi’s. You have a key to his place.”

It’s not fair that she would take that fucker’s side just because he never hits _her_. Why can't she see that? How come you’re the one who always needs to be patient?

More importantly, though, why would you have a key to Kakashi’s place?

* * *

 

You have keys to Kakashi’s apartment. It’s not something you forgot anymore than you forgot that clouds are in the sky and rocks on the ground. You even remember what his place looks like: a single-floor house with a little rose garden in the back, a hobby that Kakashi had picked up from an old civilian girlfriend. Kakashi had a girlfriend once. You hated her.

But you don't remember where the house is, or where you keep the keys. Such an inconvenient thing to forget. They must be somewhere in your room. You head there, not bothering to hide your hurried pace. It hits you that the ANBU armor in your bedroom must be Kakashi’s. That’s not something you remember, but something you work out.

The first thing you do when you close the door to your bedroom behind you is try on the ANBU armor. As expected, it doesn't fit you. You can't get the armbands around your thick forearms. It’s fit for someone lankier than you. Someone long and slim. Someone like Kakashi.

It occurs to you that you should inspect your body (something is not as it should be--lots of things are not as they should be), but you don't have a mirror in the room. There’s one in the bathroom, but you share it with your parents. You’d rather them not walk in on you acting like you don't recognize yourself. Especially not your father. Not after your little joke yesterday. Having to kill them would complicate things. And you don't want to kill Amá.

You start pulling your shirt over your head, figuring that you can look at most of your body without a mirror, and feel a light, warm piece of metal touching your chest. You know before you look down that they’re the keys to Kakashi’s apartment. A quick image-memory of the various traps all over the little house flash before your mind’s eye. But still no inkling of where the house might be.

The village, a little beyond downtown. Not a memory, but another deduction. Kakashi is probably a jounin (why wouldn't he be?), and jounin live in spacious complexes near the tower, but away from the noise pollution of the village’s main hub. Better go look for it. Avoid your father while he seethes about your threat. Check out how different this place is from your Konoha. From the village that used to be your Konoha.

Cousins greet you on your way to the Tower. They smile and congratulate you about your Sharingan. Maybe they would have done so the first time you awakened your Sharingan if you hadn't died that same day. You don't recognize any of them, not even as potential counterparts to your cousins back home. It’s been years since the Uchiha have been anything more than ciphers to you. Most of the time, you even forget that you murdered a good chunk of them.

Some of them make noise about meeting with you later for food and games, like it’s something normal. That’s bullshit right there. Your family hated you. They would’ve locked you up in a crate and left you in someone’s basement somewhere if they had figured out a way to do it without bringing more shame to the family. You reach the foot of the Tower, thinking about that--how the Uchiha excised you from their precious family tree long before you went crazy--when you spot the Hokage Monument.

Minato’s face looks down at you.

That’s not right. The timeline isn't right.

The details escape you (funny, how details slip away from a diseased mind), but you remember the basic chronology well enough. Third Shinobi World War, Kannabi Bridge, Minato decimates the Stone army, you die, Kakashi gets your Sharingan, Minato becomes Yondaime. If Team Minato is off on the Kannabi Bridge mission, then Minato’s mug shouldn't be on the monument.

It’s not just the monument. Konoha had been embroiled in a brutal war when Team Minato went off to the Kannabi Bridge. You’d been just a kid then, though already a chuunin and convinced that you understood the world, but you remember the smog of stress and uncertainty that had blanketed the village. Almost everything had been rationed, their ranks had hemorrhaged out on the frontlines, and people walked around certain that the end of the village was nigh.

The people around you are nothing like that. They walk around chatting and playing, unconcerned about the shinobi among them. The shinobi themselves look almost bored. You spot a pair of Uchiha cops reading a manga volume together under the shade of a tree, a few feet away from a street vendor handing cherry-red frosted drinks to a group of girls. You can detect three separate ANBU teams guarding the Tower (thank fuck your senses haven't atrophied, even if your chakra has). If there’s really a war going on, then there should be more guys. Spies are more dangerous during wartime, after all.

You head towards the steps leading to the Tower, not even thinking of your original plan (did you have one in the first place?). Randomly, you get brief, frantic flashes about your situation. You had a plan, a convoluted one that took _years_ of meticulous planning and the blood of the most powerful people in your world. It will all go to waste if you don't get back home. There’s the Kannabi Bridge, where Kakashi will _die_ if you don't do something.  
But you don't care about this Kakashi.

“Obito!”

You berate yourself for being startled. The voice is not familiar, not really. It kinda resembles Kakashi’s, but it’s too. . . lilting. Something. Revealing. Kakashi would not flaunt his surprise (joy?) so much.

“Obito!” The man who approaches you has snow-white hair and obnoxiously handsome features, but that’s where his resemblance to Kakashi ends. The outfit, at least, is familiar: bits and pieces of a standard ANBU uniform. “You did it!”

What did you do? It can't be too bad. Not-Kakashi doesn't seem upset about it.

“I wish I could’ve been there,” says Not-Kakashi, rubbing your shoulder. He’s standing too close to you. You lean even closer, despite the danger. “Gone to celebrate right away, but this mission was. . . Well, you know.”

You don't know. People walk past the two of you, like it’s not strange to see Kakashi in the middle of the street, maskless, holding a friendly conversation with a vicious Konoha missing-nin. “Where’s your mask?”

“In my locker?” His eyes, both dark as coffee gleaming under the sun, narrow. “Why do you ask?”

He thinks you mean his ANBU mask. It hits you that this. . . mocking facsimile of Kakashi walks around with a naked face, sharing the sensuous curve of his lips with the whole world. Your eyes fall on those lips. A lick of rage streaks through you. You don't know where it’s coming from.

“Obito?”

“I think I got kicked out my house.”

“Oh.” Not-Kakashi’s eyes fill with unguarded sympathy, and he pulls you into a lazy half-hug.

You could kill him, surprise him like you surprised your father, jam a kunai into his liver. You don't want to kill Kakashi, though. Not the one in your world; not even this one. Still, you're surprised to find yourself leaning into him, until the half-hug turns into a full embrace. A scent of metal and dogs, somehow not entirely unpleasant, envelops you. Though you haven't stood so close to Kakashi in a lifetime, you immediately recognize it as his personal scent.

A hiccuping sound escapes someone’s pursed lips. Not-Kakashi's arms tighten around you. Much to your horror, you realize that you’re crying.


	5. Really Not-Kakashi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still behind on comments.

Not-Kakashi takes you to his house. It would be wrong to say that you remember the way as he herds you there. The way has always been in your mind; you just needed him to color in the memory. Not-Kakashi lives in a polished apartment building less than a mile away from the Tower. It’s where most jounin (and exclusive courtesans and whoever else is rich) live.

“I'm not gonna bullshit you,” Not-Kakashi is saying as he opens the door to his apartment, “I think this is a blessing in disguise. Your father is a scumbag.”

You haven't told him exactly what happened, just that you had a fight and defended yourself, and Not-Kakashi had filled in the blanks that most suited him. You don't remember much, but you can fill in your own blanks. You had been worth some hate as a kid. 

“I’ve been telling you to come live with me for a while,” Not-Kakashi rambles on, bending down to start removing the ACE bandages wrapped around his calves. “Or get your own place, if you’re too proud.”

Bet you can't afford a place as nice as Not-Kakashi, not even if a portion of your salary didn't go to the Uchiha family savings. The walls are a rich burgundy that remind you of fresh blood in the twilight. They’re adorned with paintings of varying styles, from all over the world. You even recognize one of them, an oil painting of a sunset as seen from a hill in the Land of Water. You killed the painter back home, but fuck knows why. Your hate for Kiri is petty and boundless cruelty. It probably had to do with that.

“Obito, talk to me,” says Not-Kakashi, while you frown at his painting.

“I have a headache,” you say, then suppress a smile because, fuck, you sound like a passive-aggressive housewife.

“Then why aren't you complaining about it?”

Well, Not-Kakashi is used to the fool you used to be, and you would have whined away about the sun being too hot if given half the chance.

“I just don't wanna talk about it,” you say.

“Sure, but you always wanna talk about _something_ ,” insists Not-Kakashi. “Something’s off. You’re not wearing your dumb goggles, and you haven't asked about Rin.”

That’s because you don't give a shit about Not-Rin. Not that you can let Not-Kakashi in on that, at least not until you know you can crush his pretty face.

“Shit,” you say, letting your face fill up with intense regret that you don't even have to fake. It’s in you. You just have to let it out. “How is she?”

“She’s fine; this mission turned out to be more bark than bite,” dismisses Not-Kakashi. “There was an emergency at the hospital just when we got back. That’s probably gonna be harder on her.”

“Hm.” 

Not-Kakashi frowns. You’re fucking this right up.

“The goggles get in the way when I activate my Sharingan,” you add, hoping to distract him.

“Yeah?” says Not-Kakashi, eyebrows lightly furrowed. He sees your shallow attempt at misdirection (of course he does, he is fucking brilliant), but lets himself be swayed by it anyway. 

You see the decision written on his face, the instant when he decides that he doesn't want to fight you. Maybe that’s why your Kakashi wears a mask. To preserve his privacy. 

“I’ve been telling you those goggles are stupid since the day I met you.”

“Right, whatever.” You should grab the chance he’s throwing you by the throat. Keep talking. Make dumb jokes. Get into a stupid argument about those fucking useless goggles. You would have. Once upon a time, you’d have gotten your ass kicked because you couldn't help defending those stupid goggles.

But you can't bring yourself to say anything else.

“So what’s it like?” Not-Kakashi looks at you with wide eyes. It’s a milder version of the look Kakashi gave you when your Tobi mask broke. A pleading look that makes you want to pulverize his perfect nose, but also crawl to him and beg him to forgive you. 

“What’s what like?” You have to keep talking. Just keep talking. The last thing you need is this doppelganger figuring out that something is wrong.

“Seeing the world through a Sharingan, what else?”

“It’s. . .” Difficult to verbalize. A part of you wants to smile at the irony. There’s a world where Kakashi knows, intimately, what the Sharingan is like. 

“What’s this? Rendered speechless? You, of all people?” Not-Kakashi covers his mouth, trying for a bad impression of a scandalized civilian in a shinobi soap opera.

“Why not just ask another Uchiha?”

“Oh, like there’s a single one besides you who’d give up a hint about your precious kekkei-genkai.”

“There might be,” you say softly, as Not-Kakashi steps closer, grabs your forearm, and rests his head on your shoulder.

For a moment, you struggle between two opposing instincts: to push him away in disgust, or to inhale deeply so you can better appreciate his scent.

“You remember back in school? Not the Academy, but proper school where they taught you to read and shit?” you ask.

“No.”

“Come on, you remember everything.” Even before Obito gave him an eye, Kakashi had been able to regurgitate every minutia in the shinobi code.

“Never went to school,” says Not-Kakashi, shrugging. “Tested out of reading and writing classes. I don't remember when exactly I learned those things.”

Speaking of, why the hell hasn't Kakashi vomited some random shinobi codes at him yet? “Fine, then think of that feeling you get when you solve a puzzle, or learn something new.”

Not-Kakashi narrows his eyes and pouts adorably. You hate yourself for thinking that.

“Right, got it.”

“That’s the feeling a Sharingan gives you every time you see another person _move_.”

“Oh.” Not-Kakashi tilts his head.

“Also, everything looks red.” There’s probably no need to keep on this subject, but this is something you’ve always wanted to say. But no one back home would have heard it, except maybe for that asshole, Itachi. “It’s annoying.”

“That doesn't make any damn sense.”

“But it’s what happens,” you insist.

“The iris of the Sharingan is red, but nothing happens to the cornea. Why would everything be red?”

“How do you know the cornea doesn't turn red too?”

“The sclera doesn't turn red, so obviously the cornea’s still clear-transparent.”

“The sclera?” You wouldn't notice that subtlety, since _everything_ looks red to you with your Sharingan active, and you never had a chance to compare notes with your cousins. That asshole Itachi never once fell for the Tobi routine, and who else was left?

“The whites of your eyes,” corrects Not-Kakashi, apparently assuming that you are a moron. “Those don't get red.”

“How do you know what everything in the eyeball is called?” You do mean to play the fool. Better start early.

“How do you _not_ know?” 

You open your mouth, indignant retort ready, then you notice a little smile pulling at the corners of Not-Kakashi’s mouth. If he was wearing his mask, it wouldn't be noticeable. The fight drains out of you, and Not-Kakashi smiles wider. The amusement spreads over his face and into his eyes. You stop breathing a second before he leans forward and presses his lips to yours.

It is both a shock and the most natural thing in the world. You open your mouth, trying to brace yourself for the feel of Not-Kakashi’s tongue pushing into your mouth, but he just licks your lower lip and wraps an arm around your waist. 

That arm trips you up, more than the tongue-action would have. Not-Kakashi could rub his hand over your spine until he gets to the back of your neck and slice the life right out of you. He must notice your brief instant of panic because his mouth pauses over yours a second before he leans backwards, a worried question in his warm, brown eyes. 

That won't do. You grab his arm and drag his mouth back to yours. He allows it, and you flare up like a bunch of fireworks dipped in gasoline. You could break him in half if you wanted. When he tries to continue that soft excuse for a kiss, you shove your tongue into his mouth and push him back against the wall. He allows it.

You know he’s only _allowing_ it because he’s utterly relaxed, not participating in the kiss, like he’s an indulgent parent waiting out a brat’s temper tantrum. It’s _infuriating_. 

You bite his lower lip.

He’s pushed you away before you’ve registered the tension in his shoulders.

“What the fuck?” Blood spills from his mouth.

You taste copper. 

“You can't handle a little rough play?”

You expect a derisive comeback, an insult to your kissing prowess at least (that’s your first kiss, after all). Not-Kakashi just shoots you a betrayed look before striding towards the kitchen to rinse his mouth.


	6. Not-Rin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year's!

You flee Not-Kakashi’s apartment. No need to sugarcoat it. While he washes his mouth, you stride to the door, unsure of where exactly you’re going. He doesn't try to follow you, which fills you with both relief and profound indignation.

An old lady is watering roses in the apartment complex garden, right in front of the building. She’s familiar - not from back home, but familiar nonetheless. You wave automatically when she beams at you, and your legs want to carry you to her side so you can ask her about how her grandson is doing at the Academy. Instead, you rush outside.

At some point, Not-Kakashi is going to want to fuck you. Or for you to fuck him. You can't begin to guess how that would work. Before dying, you repelled women (and men, you suppose) like a drunken skunk. Afterwards, you’d been disfigured inside and out. You hadn't had much time for romance. Not that this development would make more sense if you had.

Kakashi hadn't had much of a love life either, intent as he had been on punishing himself, but the few trysts you’d spied on had all been with women.

You know where Rin lives. She’s a medic in this world too, so she would be at a modest house a few blocks from the main hospital. Something in you is afraid of seeing her, but fuck it. Where else can you go?

The village’s layout is the same, so you’re knocking on her door about five minutes later. You think about breaking into her house, though how could you get through her traps without Kamui? That jutsu was your crutch. You were never a good ninja without it. 

Not-Rin opens the door before you can spiral into a vortex of self-loathing and doubt. It’s as easy as breathing to return her bright smile as she ushers you into her house. 

“I’m so glad to see you,” she says. “Really, I should’ve stayed with you in that field since I’m _pretty_ sure awakening the Sharingan shouldn't trigger chakra exhaustion--I mean, not right away, that would defeat the point--but Kakashi insisted that the mission was too important, and you’d be safe in the hospital.”

“You know how he is about missions.” You’re not gonna fuck up, not with Rin. Not-Rin. You’re gonna talk as much as you’re supposed to.

“Still, I told him something was off.” Not-Rin frowns. “The mission turned out to be bullshit anyway, though I guess he couldn't have known that.”

“Nope.”

Her frown deepens. You should talk more. Fuck. You haven't filled space up with noise without donning the Tobi persona in a lifetime.

“I heard there was an emergency at the hospital?”

“The patient died.” Not-Rin shrugs. “So I got to come home right away and try to relax. I would’ve gone straight to you, but I figured you and Kakashi would want some privacy.”

 _Privacy for what?_ It’s a good thing you have enough presence of mind not to ask that, though it’s your first instinct. It’s obvious what for.

You let a sheepish smile take over your face, like you’re embarrassed. It must be the right expression because Not-Run grins, slaps your shoulder, and leads you out to her balcony. She’s not wearing any make up. Her clothes are comfortable and thin. He black t-shirt is tight and small. You can see a sliver of her brown skin, just beneath her belly button. She’s not wearing a bra, which is made more obvious by the tepid wind outside.

You note that she’s comfortable enough around you to dress like that. That’s not how it’d been back with Rin. She had known of your feelings and thus kept a polite distance out of pity and respect. If your total lack of reaction at this Rin’s near-nakedness is anything to go by, she’s not being careless or teasing you. Seeing Kakashi without his mask on had affected you more.

“So what happened out in the field?” asks Not-Rin.

“I awakened my Sharingan.” You shrug.

It should be more. . . something, that you seem to want Kakashi in this world. Disconcerting? Yeah, that. Once, you’d torn the world to pieces because it’d taken Rin’s happiness away.

“You looked a second away from attacking me,” says Not-Rin.

“I thought it was a genjutsu,” you say. It’s an easy enough lie because it has a bit of truth in it.

“Seriously?” 

“Yeah.”

“Didn't your. . . cousins ever tell you what awakening the Sharingan felt like?”

Your father, which is what she’d been about to say first, had assumed you never would. And back home, you weren't exactly popular with your cousins. 

“Maybe it’s different for everyone,” you say, shaking your head. “They wouldn't have told me anything anyway. Can't torture something out of me if I don't know it.” Most Uchiha don't know what the Sharingan can do, not even the ones who have one.

“I guess that makes sense,” says Not-Rin, stretching her arms over her head. Her shirt rises high enough that you can see her belly button.

It garners as much reaction out of you as her fingernails.

“Anyway,” she says, “I was serious about us all going out to celebrate. Today, I’ll stop by the Tower and get Minato-sensei on board.”

“He’s probably too busy,” you say, wistful. “So are you guys, I bet. Just stop over at the Uchiha party for a few minutes to commemorate the occasion or whatever.”

“Oh, that’s gonna be a stuffy clan pissing contest,” says Not-Rin. “We need to do something, just the four of us. . . Maybe five or six of us if Kushina-sensei decides to bring Naruto-chan. Poor Minato-sensei doesn't get to spend any time at all with his family. . .” 

You’re not listening anymore. The jinchuriki is alive, and so is her baby. The Kyuubi attack never happened in this world. That’s not right.

You can make it right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I'm at tumblr now.](https://loudest-voice.tumblr.com/)


	7. Not-Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, thanks to luvsanime02 for beta-reading.

You stay with Not-Rin until it’s time to go to your Sharingan Awakening Dinner, or whatever it’s called. Certain details have been lost to you for a long time. Not-Rin doesn't ask why you aren’t with Not-Kakashi, so either you two aren't as close as you assumed, or fights between you and Not-Kakashi are so common that they’re not worth fussing about.

“I have nothing to wear!” Not-Rin cries when you announce that you don't want to keep Amá waiting (which is actually true).

“It’s not gonna be anything fancy,” you reassure her. “It's not like a Hyuuga party.” Not like it would be if he was an important clansman.

“That’s what you said for your promotion party, and I was the only fool there _not_ in a kimono.”

Your what?

“What about you? You got your kimono ready?”

“Amá probably has one for me.”

“So, no, then?” You shrug.

Not-Rin is scandalized, but luckily she has a kimono lying around from one of her exes. “You know, the one with a rich daddy who, sadly, couldn't find my clit with a map?”

“Yeah?” The jealousy you expect, almost hope for, doesn't come.

“You look about his size.” It turns out he was half an inch taller than you, but the kimono is of high quality. It’s close enough. Not-Rin seems satisfied as you both head to your parents’ home. Neither of you wants to sweat on kimono fabric, so you walk at a civilian pace. Not-Rin talks, and you think you do a good job of making up your part of it. Not-Rin doesn't seem suspicious.

Amá greets you warmly. You compliment the glimmering, golden-leaf pattern on the sleeves of her yellow kimono. Your father nods at you, holding your gaze for about a second. He must have gotten a medic to heal the cuts on his face, but a red-pink scar remains on the side of his nostrils. The cut probably went deep enough to reach bone. He must be afraid of you now. Good.

The Uchiha clan trickles in. By nightfall, all but a few on-duty cops are loitering around. Your parent's house is too small, so the party spills over to the neighbors’. Everyone brings food, and as much sake as they can afford. Your cousins clap your shoulders and tell you that they always knew you had it in you. That has to be bullshit, but something in you believes them. It’s hard to remember why you hate them so much. But you do. They can act warm and go-lucky all they want. You know what they are, deep down, when shit hits the fan. Shit just hasn't hit the fan yet.

But you’ll fix that.

Not-Kakashi arrives after your mother has passed around plates so everyone can go around the impromptu buffet. You wonder who the hell invited him, then he goes to Amá and offers her a deep bow. She snorts, pulls him into a loose hug, then kisses his cheek. Well, that’s fucking adorable, isn't it? He makes his way to you afterwards. You notice that his hair is longer and a little straighter than your Kakashi’s (your Kakashi?).

“Congratulations on your unexpected accomplishment, Obito-san,” he says when he reaches you, with a formal bow.

“Thanks.” You should punch his perfect nose right into his mouth.

He frowns. Either he’s nothing like your Kakashi (utterly unable to not wear any kind of mask), or he trusts you way too much. If it’s the second one, then you should be doing more to nurture any trust, hoard it away and treasure it so you can use it later. You’re not quite there yet, so you stare flatly. You stare the same way your Kakashi used to way back in the day, before you got your Sharingan and died.

“Did the Sharingan paralyze your tongue, or something?”

“Or something,” you say.

“Right,” says Not-Kakashi, rolling his eyes (so strange to see two dark eyes on his face, even more so than the longer hair). “I’m gonna be with your cousins from ANBU. Get back to me once you’ve pulled yourself together.”

Cousins? As in plural? Shouldn't that asshole Itachi be too young to-- Wait.

Itachi.

He should be around, young and--most importantly-- _malleable_.

For a dizzying moment, you think something like _this_ must be what Orochimaru feels like all the fucking _time_. But not sexually. Obviously. That asshole Itachi was never attractive to you, even when he was older.

Not-Kakashi evaporates from your mind. You have more important things to do, starting with establishing a timeline. Obviously, Not-Kakashi isn't a douchebag little kid, which means that asshole Not-Itachi might be older as well. This is a kind of official party, so the Clan Head must be around, and maybe he brought the wife and kid (kids?) along.

You decide to mingle, or something close to it. It wouldn't do to surveil your own party, and you wouldn't know how to go about it anyway. Kamui has been your cheat code for years. You don't know how to be a ninja anymore. You do have a dopey smile left up your sleeve, thank the Sage. Getting Tobi’s voice right was easier if you made the right faces, even if no one could see them behind your mask.

It’s comfortable to fake merriness now that Not-Kakashi is out of sight. In fact, it’s downright easy, like slipping on a favorite pair of shoes. You falter only when you spot Not-Kakashi talking to an Uchiha girl you don't recognize. She slaps his shoulder and leans closer to him. You hope you’re the one who killed her back home. You’ll definitely be the one to kill her here.

But you can't keep getting sidetracked. You have a mission now. Find that asshole, Not-Itachi (surely, he must be an asshole too). Just keep talking; you’ll stumble into the right people soon enough.

As you chat with an older cousin with a receding hairline, a flash of red catches the corner of your eye.

Your muscles do their best to seize, then all your instincts go on alert. A loud laugh, one that tries to take over all the space in the garden, makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You know who it is before you see the flowing red locks. It’s the jinchuuriki, hair wild and down to the small of her back. You see the outline of her biceps next, and then your attention drifts to the baby in her arms. Bright blond hair and a chubby hand playing with his mother’s charm necklace. A harmless good luck symbol from Uzushio, but with a few alterations, a true warding seal.

You think that you should look back at your cousin before she notices your gaze, but it’s too late. Her neck swivels towards you, questioning. A smile takes over your face. It is comforting in its happiness, but alienating because you don't remember her ever smiling like that. The jinchuuriki recognizes it. She beams at the girl she’s been talking to before gesturing your way.

The alien force continues to guide you. You say goodbye to your cousin and head in her direction because she is your friend, and you’re supposed to meet your friends halfway. Though you’ve never had any friends, so it’s unclear how you know that.

“Obito!” The jinchuuriki pulls you into a tight hug, squishing the baby between your chests. Your eyes catch his. He looks away, unconcerned.

“I meant to come see you the moment I heard of your Sharingan, but I was too busy with classes. Minato’s stuck with all the Hokage business, but I swear I’ll drag him for a team dinner sometime this week so we can all celebrate.”

Why does she care? “It’s really not that important,” you say. That one comes from you.

“Oh, now’s not the time for your Uchiha modesty,” says the jinchuuriki, as she pushes you away lightly.

Your _what?_

“My what?” You must sound as incredulous as you feel.

The jinchuuriki guffaws, slapping your shoulder lightly. Her baby giggles and claps his hands. “I swear you guys might as well be monks,” she says.

This world is absurd.

“Just don't make plans for Wednesday after our lessons, all right? That’s when I'm planning the dinner. Just the team, not your entourage.”

At the same time as you think _what lessons_ , you remember the answer. Sealing lessons. The jinchuuriki is a sealing master, and you’re her apprentice. One of them.

You smile wide, showing your teeth. They let you into their house. They _trust_ you. You probably won't even need that asshole Itachi.

They won't know what hit them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I'm at tumblr now.](https://loudest-voice.tumblr.com/)


	8. Little Itachi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would say I'm back but in basically working 70+ hours a week now. I think I'm writing in a fuge. Thanks to luvsanime for betaing this, though at this point I'm not 100% sure she did. I mean I assume so.

They call your father away for police business before your dinner is done, so Amá says that you can stay the night if you want to. You can tell by the tentative way she voices the offer that it’s coming from obligation, but you say yes anyway (though it’s hard to set aside pride that you didn't even know you had). If not at your parents’, then you'll have to stay with Not-Kakashi and deal with his amorous expectations. You plan to drag out this fight you’re apparently having for as long as possible, but you must be slow about it so it doesn't fizzle out into a fist fight.

And that’s where it will end up, at the very least. Depending on how strong Not-Kakashi is (and how weak you are), it might not even get that far.

You can't investigate Not-Kakashi’s power levels without raising twenty suspicious flags, but you can take yourself to a training course and test your new body’s capabilities. The search for that asshole Itachi will have to wait. 

Back in the Academy, you were a mess. Your chakra didn't work right, you spent countless hours pushing it at your eyeballs anyway, and didn't pay any attention to your poor bastard of an Academy teacher. Your cousins sprinted past you. In your desperation to catch up, you ignored your sensei’s advice about proper form and just sprinted faster, added more reps to your sets, doubling the sets themselves, then the weight, and then grinded until you tore a ligament. You forget which one, but it was an important one. Then you trained through that too and gave yourself a fucked-up knee (it was a knee ligament, you remember now) before ever seeing a real battle.

Then Kakashi and the war happened, and it didn't matter so much anymore. 

What were you doing again? 

Oh, yeah. Checking your power levels.

There are plenty of training fields in the Uchiha compound. You sneak out early in the morning without saying goodbye to Amá (which is hard, you need to kill that woman), and walk around until you find an empty training field. That too is harder than it should be. The Uchiha are manic about their PT. The worlds have that much in common because of course they do.

But whatever. You need to keep your eye on the prize, which for now is figuring out how easily Not-Kakashi could beat you to a pulp.

Your body responds. . . you have no idea. Well? Your knee doesn't hurt (why would it, again?). You can run through the basic training routines easily enough, though you're sweating like a pig by the end of it. You climb a rope without chakra to check your dexterity and flexibility, and it’s alright. You feel pretty good, though you’re short of breath by the end of it.

No. It’s shit. You were so much more than this. You were practically a god on earth.

The sun peeks from behind thick, grey clouds. You look up as your heart flutters in your chest; not from exertion, but from something that you don't care to examine too closely. You don't have enough chakra to deal with Not-Kakashi. He is an ANBU captain, and so far up Minato-sensei’s ass that the man’s colon is practically his main address. That you’re even considering it is a sign that you’ve lost your fucking mind, more so than the fact that you don't know your father’s name.

_Caw._

The bird startles you. 

It’s not worth it to beat yourself up about not sensing the fucking crows, since that’s what they do to everyone. There are two of them, their wings glossy and black as coal, perched on the fence around the training course. They don't phase you as much as the sight of the jinchuuriki’s flame hair. That asshole Itachi is as passive as a peasant.

And nowhere to be seen. You scan around, still not scared. He must be good enough to be able to hide his chakra--

Nah. He’s just _little_. You don't spot him until you drop your gaze. As you suspected, he’s just a little boy here. A tension you didn't know you’d been carrying evaporates off you. This is the best weapon you could have found.

You relax and start walking forward. Your hand moves up to wave carelessly, and your face arranges itself into a loopy smile. The crows fly over to Little Itachi. One perches on his shoulder, the other on his head. Little Itachi tilts his head. He doesn't wave back. The little asshole.

_Caw._

You laugh at the crow’s threat, and let your arm hang over the fence.

“Hiyah, there!” 

“Hello.” Little Itachi says it mechanically as he stares up at you. 

You stare back. A soft breeze moves between you, drawing your gaze to the stray lock of ink-black hair tickling Little Itachi’s nose. Then you force your eyes back to his, beaming. Maybe that asshole Itachi’s staring trick is not a trick after all.

“Who are you?” asks Little Itachi.

“Why, your cousin, Obito! Who else would I be?”

“No, you’re not.”

This is the best fucking thing. You hop over the fence. Little Itachi takes a step backwards, but that little display of weakness doesn't stop him from fixing you with an icy stare. Even though his neck is about as thick as your wrist, you almost back down. 

_Caw,_ says the crow on Little Itachi’s shoulder. The one on his head flaps its wings.

You kneel so that you’re eye-level with Little Itachi and reach out to ruffle his head. The crow practically screams, but it flies down to his other shoulder. The other crow - the crybaby, apparently - flies off to the fence behind you.

Little Itachi pushes your hand away the instant the silk of his hair brushes your fingertips. He walks around you, extending his arm forward so the crybaby crow can fly back to him.

“This place is a shithole,” you mutter.

Little Itachi turns around to glare. 

“You realize I'm an impostor, so you come to _tell me to my face_. Then you show me your back.” 

Little Itachi glares harder.

“Are you actually, literally stupid in this world?”

More staring.

“And mute?”

“I'm gonna tell on you.”

“For fuck’s sake.” You breathe, and do a quick scan for foreign chakra signatures. 

There are none, so you grasp Little Itachi’s neck. You don't even squeeze; that’s not the point. The crows fly back, flapping their wings and crying. Little Itachi stands his ground, but his eyes remain pitch black. What a fucking disappointment.

“I _respected_ you.” 

Little Itachi’s eyes narrow.

“Well, not _respect_ respect,” you correct yourself, shrugging. The crows have stopped their shrill screeching, and Little Itachi has relaxed even though your hand is still around his neck. “You were an asshole, after all.”

“You’re crazy,” says Little Itachi.

“Well, yeah.” You take your hand back. The crows immediately perch on Little Itachi again. “What are you doing out this early anyway?”

“I couldn't sleep.” 

An image flashes through your mind: an older Itachi leaning against a windowpane out in a city hammered by near perpetual rain in the middle of the night, coughing up blood. You’d talked to him then as well, and he’d only admit that he couldn’t sleep, but you’d sensed his momentary weakness and crowded him. He’d been burning up like a furnace. 

“Does your am--mother know you’re out here on your own?” 

Little Itachi pouts.

“No, of course not,” you answer for him. This Itachi doesn’t have the Sharingan, apparently, and doesn’t know better than to not approach a potential hostile and call them out on their lie. He shouldn’t be out on his own with a pair of screechy crows. “Your mother’s busy with the new baby.”

“I’m young, and you’re not,” says Little Itachi, before you can make some noise about ratting him out. “If I do bad things, people think it’s ‘cause I don’t know any better. They won’t think that about you.”

You laugh and sit on the ground. “They’ll start watching you, won’t they? If they find out you sneak out on your own.”

“I’ll figure out how to get away from them again,” says Little Itachi, shrugging. 

“That’s the confidence I’ve grown to expect from you.” Though certainly not the intelligence. “So let’s say, hypothetically, that you go and rat me out; what’re you gonna say?”

Little Itachi stares.

“That your friends told you. . . what?” 

Little Itachi stares harder.

“That your. . .” You shoot the crows a pointed look. “. . .friends told you that I’m. . . ?”

You wait until Little Itachi's gaze grows uncertain, then slide closer to him and pat his head. The crow perched there strikes you with its beak, but it’s practically flying vermin. You swat it away, then grab Little Itachi’s shoulder when he tries to aid it.

“I think it’s in our best interests to make a deal,” you say, squeezing him. “You keep what your crow friends tell you to yourself, and I don't tell your parents that you sneak off on your own.”

You could hurt him. You’d _enjoy_ hurting the little fucker, even if he isn't the one who tried to incinerate you with Amaterasu. That wouldn't serve you in the long term, though, and if there’s one thing you’ve learned, it’s that you have to play the long game. So you wait, watching as Little Itachi’s fine eyebrows furrow in concentration, then smooth out as he makes a decision.

“Alright,” he says, pouting. “I won't say anything before I’ve got proof.”

Damn, maybe he _is_ dumb. You always suspected as much of that asshole Itachi. It’s best for you anyway.

“Excellent!” You extend out your hand and stick out your little finger. “Pinkie swear?”

Little Itachi glares at your finger, but then he nods and sticks out his own hand. His pinkie is barely long enough to wrap around yours.

**Author's Note:**

> [I'm at tumblr now.](https://loudest-voice.tumblr.com/)


End file.
